


The Blessed Moon

by McFaneLy



Category: Lego Ninjago
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Blood and Injury, Celestial AU, Character Death, Graphic Description of Injury, Zane is The Moon, Zane is a Celestial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:35:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24826156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McFaneLy/pseuds/McFaneLy
Summary: The Celestials, gods that observe the thriving world. Be it amongst the mortals, or from a distance, their existence has a profound effect on the world. Providing day and night, warmth and comfort, safety. They are worshipped, or feared. They give blessing of their power to a select few. Yet, some people feel as though they deserve the favour of the gods, and there isn’t much they won’t do to get it.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 40





	The Blessed Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Written because the Discord Squad went wild with a new AU (You know who you are, and I love you for it)

The cloying sensation of muzziness and fog surrounding his mind made it hard for Cole to open his eyes, but he found that even with the confusion and the nausea that seemed to come in tandem with his gradual waking awareness; he wanted nothing more than to let his eyes slip closed all over again and let the darkness of sleep take him. 

Only, the feeling of a cool breeze running through his nightclothes, and the unusual awareness of not being in his bed anymore forced him to try and make sense of the situation. 

Cole remembered his dad putting him to sleep that night. He remembered the long day he'd had before that. Sitting around, trying to keep his four year old self from getting bored. His father, Lou, renowned performer for the God of the Sun; had taken him to work that day with the knowledge that he was to be respectful and quiet in the temple as he entertained the visitors that came by. 

Kai was a very welcoming and enigmatic deity, and some legends said that whilst he existed in the sky, shining down and providing day, allowing crops to flourish under his watchful gaze and humanity to thrive under the day that he provided; he preferred being amongst the humans. That he took the form of an assortment of animals, though mainly favoured the look of a fox. He gave light and joy to everyone and the temples dedicated to him reflected that. 

If Cole was told to sit still, he tended to do the exact opposite. Everything and anything was interesting, and the best time to sneak away and explore the Temple of the Sun was when his father was far too distracted to notice and stop him. 

He'd made sure not to touch anything, not that he'd been able to reach what seemed to catch his eye. Yet, everything seemed to. The temple rose high, towering walls and pillars that held up the structure, adorned in the brightest red tapestries that the seamstresses in the nearby villages had been able to provide. The brightest colour Cole had ever seen. Then there was the gold, glinting in the sunlight that came pouring through the open doors, along with people from far and wide. Large oaken contraptions that stayed hanging open from the tiny hours of the morning just as the sun peaked its glow over the horizon, to the late night as the final rays of its light descended and darkness took over. 

To a child, the notion that everything in that room had been built, crafted so expertly all in the name of a benevolent god that allowed them all to thrive and grow and _live_. It was astounding. 

For about the whole of ten minutes. 

Cole padded around the main room, explored the hallways that webbed off to the sides. Toddled past cleaners with wooden buckets of steaming water, some people dressed in some nicer tailored clothes with loaded platters of food heading straight to where the central sun dais was situated, providing food for the masses of people that came and brought with them gifts for their god. 

A few people spared him a few glances, though most workers knew who he was. They gave him small waves, smiles. Cole simply continued to gaze around each new room in turn. Until the corridor circled back around to the performance area, and he was back where he'd begun. 

And he was quickly bored again. It didn't help that his father's job seemed to stretch on for so long that it was almost like the day was stretching and making Cole's boredom and torture worse. He'd looked around, but now there was absolutely nothing to do other than sit around at the side of the room, try not to complain, and allow his dad to work. 

He must have picked a small pile of loose threads from his linen shirt when his father had come over to him. The sun had dipped, long shadows cascaded over the floor and Cole let out a large yawn when he felt himself get picked up under the arms. He rested his cheek against his dad's shoulder, and let his eyes drift closed. 

He'd come around when they'd arrived back at their home, a small place, quaint but well built. There was a large green space to the back of it, and a cobbled area to the front. Candles lit around his bedroom chased away the darkness and Cole snuggled into his bed with a soft sheet pulled up to his shoulders. His mind drifting back into the hold of sleep. 

Cole knew he hadn't woken again, he hadn't gotten up and gone outside, he hadn't pulled a stool to the window and pushed the shutters open to allow the breeze of the night into his room, then why did he feel so cold?

Why did the breeze now bite at his skin, why did he feel so bad and sickly? Why did he have the oppressive sense of wrong that caused fear to curl in his gut? 

He tried to open his eyes again, and this time it allowed a sliver of an image to get in. His head was pounding, his body was aching and he felt tears quickly prickling at the corners of his eyes. 

Cole was most definitely not at home. 

The more of his surroundings his mind decided to take in, the more his chest tightened at the fact that he didn't know where he was. Somewhere high up? The peak of a mountain? It was hard to make out anything under the faint light of the moon which was shrouded by clouds. 

There was a small fire, faintly glowing too far away to feel its warmth. Then something moved, the form of a large man, his visage covered by the night. 

The moment the man noticed that Cole was moving and awake, he stood and advanced forwards. By default and in reaction to the stranger, Cole immediately shuffled back on the ground. His night pants were muddied due to the sodden dirt and yesterday's rain, his shirt was ripped and ruined. 

And he barely moved an inch back before something stopped him. His back hit a solid blockade, a wall, or a thick pole driven into the ground, he wasn't sure?

The man knelt down in front of him, and Cole was more than close enough to see his cracked and yellowed teeth, the animal hide cloak draped over his shoulders and the wicked sharp and glinting knife on his belt. 

He whimpered, closed his eyes tightly as some tears spilled free. The man just chuckled, a rough hand clasped his chin and forced him to look up. 

He needed to get away. He _had_ to get away, find his way back home, get to his father. Anywhere but the mountain peak. 

"Snivelling brat." the man ground out, though there was an edge of glee to his voice. "I can't believe it was so easy for me to get my hands on you. You're going to be doing something very important tonight."

The man pulled his hand away, but Cole could still feel the pain. There was bruising that would follow, should he get out of the situation unscathed.

What was happening? What had..?

Around the fog in his mind, a memory surfaced. It was distorted, and hard to make out. He remembered waking up to a figure in his room. Not his dad, his dad didn't stand that tall. Then a cloth had been pressed to his mouth before he'd even had a chance to scream, the noise only came out muffled as a sickly sweet and cloying scent rushed into his mouth and nose. His eyes had dropped instantly, his body sagging soon after. Then nothing. 

Nothing until he'd woken up freezing on a mountain top, thick ropes tied around his chest and arms to keep him in place with an unknown person in front of him.

He wanted to go home. 

He wanted to go home! 

Cole could feel the tears flowing quickly now, each one dripping from his face and hitting the ground. His nose was running, his shoulders were shaking and he couldn't move his hands to wipe it all away. 

The man just towered to full height in front of him, a monster of a man. He was bedraggled, and dirty, and he smelt foul. 

"Please, let me go!" Cole squeaked out, his tongue like lead in his mouth, "Please, I want to go home! I want my dad!" He was wriggling, pulling on the ropes. Though they weren't shifting an inch. 

In response, the man smirked and turned away. 

He began setting up a circle of small candles, thick and short, the wicks barely staying lit with each frozen whip of the wind. Cole simply watched, his breathing ragged, his voice cracking and shrill as he screamed for any help, only for the sound to echo and die in the surrounding expanse of night sky and nothingness. 

His only companion was the light of the moon which intermittently broke through the clouds. 

The man seemed to gaze up into the sky with excitement every time a moon beam helped barely light up the mountaintop. 

He was muttering to himself as he worked, moving over to the fire intermittently to collect items from a leather bound bag, sewn crudely together with thick lengths of spun wool. It seemed filled to bursting with every new item taken out of it. Strips of silver cloth, which he laid to rest over the wicks of the candles, each one beginning to burn with a glowing fervour. 

Then came the flowers, a small bunch of them but Cole knew what they were. They grew in his neighbours hanging baskets, and he'd climbed up to pick them before without permission many times. 

A white petled bud, almost a star shape. They were thin and small but there were quite a few of them. They seemed to absorb the moonlight, and give off a soft white glow. 

It was comforting, and it would be pretty, if Cole wasn't so terrified of what was going to happen.

The man stepped over once he'd looked like he was happy with the set up of his items, and placed the collection of flowers just a bit further from where his feet could reach. 

Moon blossoms. _Secred datura._

Only ever used in special rituals. Told of in stories, said to ward off evil spirits and be a gift from the moon to man. An apology, almost, for bringing darkness to the world. 

Now that the man was closer, Cole could make out what was being said, and fear coiled. He was talking to himself, in a mad fervour of words and excited cackles of glee. 

"This is the perfect night, perfect… 

A child of a disciple of the sun god, what better to use to get the attention of the moon?

They'll be so pleased. So, _so pleased_."

"What are you going to do?" Cole questioned, the words pouring quietly from his mouth before he could stop them. They were pitted with a teary sound, and short pulled in breaths as he spoke through the tears. 

Attention was immediately back on him, the man's eyes wide and his smile large, Cole just wished he could shrink back. Disappear into the ground, be anywhere else. 

"Gain unimaginable power."

Cole's brow furrowed deeply, his body still trembled, but if he could bide a bit of time, maybe someone would come and help him. Maybe… Maybe his dad knew where he was and he was already on his way. 

He needed to be strong, he needed to have hope. 

"How will you," He paused, swallowing around a lump in his throat, "How will you do that, mister?" 

The man seemed to perk up at the question of how, and when one hand came to rest on the hilt of his blade, Cole felt his heart stutter in his chest, even with it already racing a mile a minute. 

"You see, my boy. The gods can sometimes come to the surface, like that blasted Sun God. But they do give out power to those who they deem worthy." The man crouched down, but he was still tall enough for Cole to need to look up and see his face. Though that wasn't where his attention was focused. It was the knife, now held in the man's grasp, being twirled slowly. "They give power to people who give them gifts, help them out, or if they simply just like the particular human."

The knife was getting lifted, being brought far too close. 

Cole whimpered lightly and pressed himself back against the pole. 

"But there are some things that the gods cannot possibly ignore. Summoning gets their attention well enough." The man spread his hand back to the circle of smouldering candles. "Yet, gods cannot ignore precious and unique gifts. And tonight, my boy, the moon is at its peak. It's waxing, but bright." He grinned madly, "The moon god is watching, my patron, and when I show them how devout I am, give them such a gift, they will descend and bless me with anything I desire."

The point of the knife came to rest on Cole's throat, and in an instant his body stilled. It ran cold, but didn't move an inch. There was no shaking, tears dropped down but he didn't dare shift an inch. The point was digging in lightly, if he swallowed, if he breathed, it would do more damage. 

If the intention was injury, there wasn't much Cole could do from where he was to prevent it. 

"Please…" He whispered quietly, his pupils blown wide. "I just want to go home."

The man lent forwards, carding his fingers through Cole's hair before his grip tightened on the strands. It forced his head back, exposing his neck further. He couldn't help but shriek, the noise echoing around. The moonlight around him was harsh now, oppressive. He'd heard stories, horrible nightmare inducing tales of some of the gods in their world. Ones that didn't take material gifts, foods, crafts, gold and silver pieces. 

Some gods only accepted things that provided more power. Belief could go a long way for the deities, but there were things… 

Sacrifices, spilled blood. Tales of people never returning home, of horrifying beings that roamed the land. Searching for waylaid children, those who didn't listen to their mothers and fathers. 

Who stole them away in the night. 

All in the name of their gods. 

"You have more use here." the man smiled. 

In an instant, a powerful wind blew over the peak. The candles cascaded into darkness, one after the other. Moonlight, more powerful than Cole had ever seen it, provided light to everything around him. Silver and white. Soft. 

Cole just wanted his dad. 

"They're here." The man whispered in glee, his grip adjusting on the knife. "They're really here. The perfect night, the perfect gift. A blooming soul, for anything I desire." He said to himself, his eyes slipping closed. 

Then the knife twisted and moved, slicing in a sharp arch. Cole didn't flinch, he couldn't move. 

He remembered a cold, wet sensation, which descended into a bone deep chill. Strength left his body in an instant, slumping forwards but supported up by the tight rope that bit and burned his bare skin. 

There was a liquid dropping intermittently to the ground, his heart was pounding loudly in his ears. 

It took him a second to realise the liquid wasn't his own tears, but by then his senses were leaving him. His mouth moved, open, trying to form words. But copper simply filled the back of his mouth, preventing any noise from coming out. His vision was swimming, edged with an advancing grey fog. 

The man was still in front of him, the blade in his grip. The edge of it coated with a deep red liquid, running off its point freely. 

The moonlight strengthened around them, but Cole didn't pay it much mind. 

His fingers and toes were tingling with pins and needles, before the feeling started to fade away completely. The liquid hitting the ground was coalescing, becoming a growing puddle. It was sticky, it seeped into his shirt and pants. 

Cole barely managed a slow blink, before his vision faded fully. 

He was sure he'd seen another person on the mountain top. 

* * *

Summoning, for a god, was like a magnetic pull. It was there, tangible, it could be ignored but it was a present sensation. One which moved through The Moon's form as he gazed down on his favourite planet once again. 

Mortals were unusual but interesting beings. Fun to observe. They went about their nights in their homes normally, shrouding from the darkness in the safety of four walls. 

He just watched. It was what he did every night. Be it whether he could see clearly down to the world's surface or not, he just looked. Each night, a new mortal to observe. But sometimes his attention was beckoned, pulled in a certain direction. Yet it was expected whenever mortals provided gifts for him. They didn't have to, but the action of a human providing a possession of theirs in his name, The Moon couldn't help but turn towards it.

However, that night, something different happened. Something had been given to him. Something that The Moon hadn't felt in decades, centuries even. 

The copper tang, the oppressive and surrounding shroud of darkness that chilled even the god to the core. If forced anger to bloom, however unwillingly. It made his powers rile and climb, whip and scream within his form; increasing to levels that would easily be deemed by his fellow Celestials’ as anything but natural. 

_Blood magic, a blood sacrifice._

Some gods took them, thrived in the dark energy and boost of power they provided. 

The Moon, Zane, was sickened. The power felt wrong, yet it seemed into his form. Even as he descended to the planet's surface to the epicentre of the power, he could feel the energy. 

He could feel it seeping into his mind, distorting his form. Favoured silver and white robes darkening to a steeled grey. Eyes that shone blue like a perfectly pure moonbeam dulled into an almost inky blackened mockery of their true nature. 

On the mountaintop, Zane could finally see what had happened. 

See the sheer horror of the scene. 

There was a man, gazing in his direction with an incredible look of awe. His form tended to bring that out of people, but that wasn't what caught his attention. 

The bloodied blade, the man's hand with the red liquid also dripping from his fingers. The summoning circle. 

The body at its centre. 

"My… My Lord." The man bowed his head and dropped to his knees before him, his head bowed but his hands held out before him, palms up. As if he was expecting something. 

"You're truly here." He laughed, it was loud. Ecstatic. "Look upon all that I have done for you! The gift that I've given you."

Zane just stood there, his eyes never leaving the unmoving form. Clearly lifeless, skin a clear ashy grey in the dim light, red rivulets that were dried and looked as though they'd stopped flowing a while beforehand. 

_A gift?_

"What have you done?" The Moon questioned, his voice carefully level, he took a small step forward.

The man looked up with a wide smile. "I provided a sacrifice for you. Power, a soul, and in return you are welcome to bless me however you see fit!" 

Bless him? Zane almost laughed as loud as the creature before him had. There was anger blooming under the surface, but it wasn't the tainted sacrifice that was causing it. 

The idea that this human… This _mere_ mortal had taken the life of someone and thought it was what The Moon wanted? The sheer uncaring look in his eyes, the fact that he was unbothered. Unphased by what his dirtied hands had done. 

" _Power_?" Zane questioned, his voice echoing seemingly, even though the word was barely above a whisper. It had a ring to it, shrill and loud. 

The man knelt before him spared a wince. 

Good. But The Moon was not done. Not by a long shot. 

He stepped closer to the man and knelt before him, his back straight and greyed and charcoaled robes draping over the ground around his legs. The Moon reached forwards, his fingers resting against the monster's cheek. " _You_ wish for power?" Zane questioned quietly. This time the reaction from the man was faster, clearer. There was pain, gritted teeth, winced eyes. 

Fresh blood was dropping, but this time it was from the man's ears. His nose. The corner of his mouth. Zane had been given a blood sacrifice, tainted abilities and power, but he wasn't above using it once provided. 

* * *

The moon was near to concluding its bow over the night's sky, and Zane stood back to his full height. The mountaintop was silent now, with only himself and the remnants of a disaster spread out around him.

A horror, plain and simple. Zane couldn't help but look around. Such a simple set up, so unassuming and easily done. Candles, material, fire. 

A blade. 

His attention went quickly back to the form slumped in rope, and getting closer he could feel disgust and abhorrence descend.

It was a boy. Bound, Zane could see where he'd been moving. The ground was kicked up with light trenches of shifted dirt, the ropes had left marks on his small arms. 

But the worst thing was the wound. 

He moved forwards quickly and with a wave of his hand the ropes holding him up dissolved into a puther of silver smoke, which faded just as fast. Zane was there to catch the small form, though, one hand lightly on the boy's cold cheek, another on his shoulder as he lowered him to the ground.

He wasn't moving. 

He hadn't moved for a while.

"No…" Zane whispered quietly, "No, no. So young… You're so-" He shook his head, his words catching in his throat as he crooked forwards until his chin was resting against his chest, his back bent until he was a visage of one of his followers. Bowed forwards, knees beneath him against his chest. In prayer, almost. 

Had the boy prayed? Dark skin was soft and near delicate, tiny hands with mud caked under his nails, eyes closed but if they were open they'd be unseeing. There were dried tear tracks patterning his cheeks. 

He must have been so scared…

Zane carefully brushed some hair away from the boy's face, lifting him just carefully until he was situated on his robe instead of directly on the floor. The wound took his attention.

Long and far too deep for someone so small. The edges smooth and caked in blood. It would have been slow, painful. Terrifying. Yet, before he'd even realised it, The Moon had placed his fingers just above the marring mark. 

This boy, this death, it had given him horrible power. Power that was already fading, if his robes were anything to go by. But there was some left. Mixed and diluted with his own energy, everything before him had been carried out by a mad man on a disillusioned mission to be blessed by a god. Be given power. 

Zane didn't bless people as freely as The Sun; as Kai did. Hardly at all, really. 

But if there was anyone who was deserving of it… 

He felt power flow through his hand. Firstly, into the open wound. Like silver ichor, the power seemed almost liquid, flowing beautifully. Glowing calmly. 

The skin and flesh stitched slowly back together, and the taint of blood was removed from the boys skin in turn. Yet, the power still flowed in, even when the wound had disappeared. There wasn't much power provided, not really, but it was enough. 

The boy's small form before him took on a slight glimmer, and under closed eyelids there was a sliver of light from his eyes. 

In a second, it all stopped. 

The scene went back to The Moon, knelt down on the mountaintop, cradling the boy in his arms. This poor, now blessed boy, who had laid still and unmoving for far too long. Who had been caught up in such twisted man's plan with no idea what was going to become of him. Or maybe he had known, had realised? 

The sun was edging on the horizon, the light blue of the sky chasing away Zane's deep colour of the night. 

Then finally, after too long. The sound of quiet breathing permitted the air. The boy shifted slowly in his arms, wrapped in the power of the moon and the dregs of sleep that had now overtaken him. 

Zane couldn't help but smile down at the mortal, the way his chest now moved. 

The fact that the scar was gone, but an intricate design was adorned in its place. Barely visible in the oncoming sunlight, a light blue diamond in the centre of his throat, with curled wisps of silver stretching out along either side of his neck. It was not a scar, thankfully, yet it would stand out as a physical remnant of what had taken place. 

Zane just hoped that the boy would not remember the horrors of the night, simply just the comfort and safety The Moon hoped to provide with his presence. 

He would need to leave soon, with the sun rising so fast, but he was content to wait till the last second to ensure this mortal boy slept soundly.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [In New Light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24871543) by [CyberSearcher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyberSearcher/pseuds/CyberSearcher)




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